Tales of the Summer Country: Spy and the Outlaw
by Wallace
Summary: Ongoing Elseworlds sequel starring Pryde, Wisdom and ensemble cast.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Tales of the Summer Country: The Spy and the Outlaw  
  
Main Characters: Pete Wisdom, Shadowcat, ensemble cast some of whom I'm not going to mention just yet. Just for the record, all characters are established mainstream Marvel, although some of them you may not recognise at first.  
  
Disclaimer: I own a computer (which I didn't pay for), an E-Mail account (under an assumed name), and myself. The rest can be divided between Marvel and the British Isles. Despite all the shit and poor leadership, not to mention prejudice, both are still pretty cool.  
  
Note: I'm going to try chaptering this one. It's kind of experimental for me, so the sizes may well be pretty damn uneven, and it may break the continuity of the whole thing and leave it impenetrable, but it might conversely make it easier to read. Besides, I think this is going to be longer than the previous two.  
  
Oh yeah, a source on the 'Net told me Kitty's father was called Carmen, which I always thought was more appropriate for, say, a female gypsy. Probably involved in the tobacco industry. With a thing for men in uniforms, and knife fighters. But I digress.  
  
Accents: I appreciate that many authors like to spell out the accents of their characters word by word. I have not done this for the Scots characters, partly because everybody is really speaking either Middle English or Old Gaelic, and partly because in my experience most rural Scots have their accent limited to a 'Highland burr', a faint edge to the sound that just makes it that little bit more beautiful, rather than the comic- book writers standby of impenetrable misspelling (And when Spike first appeared on 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' my younger brother and I had an argument as to whether his accent was meant to be Australian or South African).  
  
Place Names: You may be confused by the place names used, especially in reference to Ireland. Almost all of them are real, being the Irish or Scots Gaelic names for the locations in question. Just go with it; I'm only using them to provide flavour.  
  
History: Yep, the Scotii, like the Mongols in the previous stories, are in position early. Yep, I don't give a shit. If Shakespeare could have MacBeth killed by MacDuff, I can have Scotland existing in the seventh century AD.  
  
Feedback: God, yes please. Thrill me, Fan Boy.  
  
  
  
1 Tales of the Summer Country: The Spy and the Outlaw  
  
Chapter 1: In which the principles are introduced, reunions take place, and the author drops several massive hints as to the situation.  
  
  
  
The Scotii had come across the sea from Ireland over a century before. They were a tall race of warriors and herdsmen, ferocious and strong but possessed of their own ancient rules of etiquette. Foremost among these was the law of hospitality, and so the Royal Hall at Scone[1] always held many guests, especially, as now, in the wintertime.  
  
Scots tradition also had quite stern things to say about the place of women, but this part of their customs had been allowed to die out over the past two decades, because a Witch-Queen ruled them.  
  
The woman's name was Moira and, even approaching middle age, she was beautiful, with dark red hair and green eyes that saw everything. She had studied under Nathaniel of Essex in her youth, before the sorcerer had been corrupted by his quest for immortality, and later, after she came to the throne, she had used the skills she had learned to quell the grumbling of those chiefs who felt that a woman had no place sitting over the Stone of Destiny. She was married, to a Lord of the Emerald Isle, a man named Sean Cassidy, but their union was childless. Instead they had adopted a young Gifted, cast out by her parents as a Changeling, and named her Rhane. When they held court, Moira and her consort sat side by side, and Rhane was permitted from early childhood to attend. As the girl grew many of the younger warriors began to bring their womenfolk to the hall with them until, in the twentieth year of Moira's reign, and the seventeenth of Rhane's life, even the victory feasts were open to all – though few women chose to attend these last.  
  
That winter the gatherings were subtly different. Men arrived at the hall in full wargear, and sat on their shields to eat. There were more guards on the gates, and travellers arriving from the south were questioned as to their background. Nathaniel of Essex was dead, and the breaking of his realm had left his Saxon Marauders as nothing more than common bandits, fleeing the vengeance of the Summer Country.  
  
  
  
She came out of a blizzard, attended by a guard of Leign Irishmen. They carried the badge of Shaw, but neither she nor the two men who walked beside her nor the girl who walked behind wore any insignia. She walked in beauty, clad in robes of mink and silver fox, coolly aloof from all around her. The guards at the gate made no move to question or hinder her them, and, leaving their escort in the warrior's hall, the woman and her three companions entered the queen's citadel.  
  
The doors slammed shut behind them.  
  
  
  
In the first days of spring, as the sun sank on the horizon, there burned on the northern edge of the Great Forest a campfire.  
  
It was small and carefully made, the wood pre-stacked to burn all night with minimal adjustments. It was the sort of fire an experienced woodsman built when he was alone, and not perfectly happy about the fact. The man who entered the circle of firelight registered this detail, as he registered most things, unconsciously and instinctively. He lived his life by knowledge and cunning. Now, he moved to crouch by the fire.  
  
'Any reason you're hiding in the shadows?' He asked. There was a pause, and then the fire's owner stepped out into the light. The two men assessed each other.  
  
The spy saw a tall man, lean built but with the powerful shoulders of an archer. His fair complexion and tall stature marked him as a Saxon. He was dressed in the rough wool and furs of a forester, and his blonde hair was dirty and uncombed, but the great longbow he was aiming was in pristine condition.  
  
The archer saw a small, wiry man with a look of cunning and general disreputability. He had black hair – worn short, in the British style – and eyes the coldest blue the archer had ever seen. His clothes were worn, but clearly of fairly good quality.  
  
'Wisdom.' The archer said, lowering his bow after a long moment, and the smaller man smiled.  
  
'Hawk.' He said in response, and then raised his voice. 'Come on.'  
  
A young woman stepped out of the shadows. She had dark brown hair and gentle brown eyes but the man called Hawk noted that the muscles in her wrists and shoulders were well developed – clearly she had trained with the short sword that she was sheathing as she emerged. Like him, she was dressed as a forester; while the simple clothes looked rough and rugged on the tall Saxon, on her slim frame they managed to look elegant and flattering.  
  
'Friend of yours?' She asked Wisdom.  
  
'Kitty, this is Clint, the best god-damned archer I ever heard of. Hawk, this is Katherine, my –'  
  
'Travelling companion.' She said, deciding to let her lover off his usual awkwardness as to how to introduce her. 'He's a Saxon.' This to Wisdom, but intended for both of them.  
  
'It means nothing, Kitty. Nathaniel was evil; that doesn't mean his people are.' She nodded.  
  
'Where are you headed?' Asked the Hawk.  
  
'Scone.' Replied Wisdom. 'I heard a rumour they might have room for someone of my talents among the Scotii.'  
  
'I'm headed that way myself.'  
  
'Oh? Time was, when you walked somewhere, you'd only be caught up by horsemen.' The Hawk grinned at Wisdom.  
  
'I took a detour. Searching for a band of Marauders. It took me four days to track them down. What happened to your comfortable spot in Essex?'  
  
'Since the Pale Lord got himself killed, Essex is back under the Summer Country, and Gambit's gone and allied with the Brotherhood. There's no more room for a spy down there.'  
  
'And in the Highlands? The Scots don't keep secrets. If they have a grudge, they fight to the death in the market square.'  
  
'I heard a rumour.'  
  
'I heard a rumble.' Interrupted Katherine. 'Could one of you please get us something to eat?' The Hawk was about to respond with a sarcastic comment, but then he saw Wisdom's expression. He watched as his old friend began laying out dried meat, twice-baked bread and a wineskin for the woman.  
  
'Travelling companion.' He said dryly. She smiled sweetly at him, and then reached out a hand for his bow.  
  
'May I?' She asked. He picked it up, removed the string, and handed the weapon across. It was a six-foot stave of Italian yew, bound and tipped with horn. The young woman hefted it for a moment, then stood up and held it extended in her left hand.  
  
'Heavy.' She said, and glanced at his shoulders once more. 'Far too big for me. Is he any good?' This last to Wisdom, who had finished arranging the supplies.  
  
'Why don't you ask him?'  
  
'Of course he THINKS he's good.' She paused. 'Well?'  
  
'Hawk?'  
  
'I'm the best bowman in Britain.'  
  
'Bastard is, too.' Wisdom agreed. 'I've seen him fire two arrows at one pull, and hit both his targets dead on. Come on, Kitty. Food's here.'  
  
The three of them settled and ate. The meal was not particularly tasty, but it filled you up. When they had finished, the Hawk asked Wisdom about his rumour.  
  
'Strange things, you might say, are afoot in Scone.' He grinned, or at least showed his teeth. 'I heard the Witch-Queen's been changing her rule.'  
  
'That interests you?'  
  
'The word is, her daughter's gone missing, and she'd like to have the child back. That sort of thing always interests me.'  
  
'Anything else?'  
  
'Nothing major. Why?' The Hawk smiled. It was not often he was ahead of his old friend with the news.  
  
'You hadn't heard? The Dead Man is in the Highlands. Rumour has it he's looking for a girl. Not yours, of course – an Irishwoman. No one knows any more than that that I heard of, but the Witch-Queen's put a price on him. Fifty pounds to the man who brings the Dead Man's head to Scone.'  
  
'Who's the Dead Man?' Asked Katherine. Her lover had briefed her on the Witch Queen and her consort, but had made no mention of anyone by that name.  
  
'A killer. Kitty, I know you can fight, and that you've got powers,' and this was the first time Wisdom had freely spoken of her abilities in front of anyone she did not know, 'but if you ever meet him, run. And hope he lets you.'  
  
  
  
It was two days later, in what seemed like a return to winter, that this woman and the two men with her arrived at Scone. The snow still lay thick on the ground, and the air was cold enough to turn their breath into vapour, but the weather was clear and the roads had been trampled level. The Hawk led them swiftly to the citadel, where his reputation secured them entry. It was late afternoon, and the household slaves were already preparing for the evening meal. They found a corner in which to dump their packs, and then Wisdom left Katherine with the Hawk and headed off to 'look up an old friend'.  
  
Over the preceding two days the Hawk had not really walked with Katherine and Wisdom, but rather had ranged ahead, behind and to either side, scouting the area, looking for tracks, occasionally shooting a choice game bird or two for their evening meal. This was therefore Katherine's first real opportunity to speak to the Saxon, and she didn't hesitate.  
  
'How did you meet Pete?' She asked conversationally. The Hawk looked up.  
  
'He lets you call him that?' Surprise was evident in his voice.  
  
'He would. I stick with Wisdom, though. I fell for him when he was just Wisdom to me. What's your real name?'  
  
'Clint.' Was the abrupt reply, but then he smiled. 'Don't wear it out.' She smiled back. 'So, Katherine, do you have no other name? May I call you Kat?'  
  
'Katherine the Jewess.' She introduced herself with unconscious formality.  
  
'You name yourself for your faith?' She blinked.  
  
'It is how I and my family were called in our home town.'  
  
'Carry the name you earn with pride.' He said. 'Carry the name your ancestors earned for you with reverence, and the name your parents chose for you with gratitude. Katherine the Jewess is what others called you, which does not make it your name. You may take pride in your faith, and wear it as your name, but you should do so because you choose to do so. Not because others cannot see past the ranting of their priest.'  
  
'You want me to choose a new name?' She was slightly irritated by this.  
  
'Accept a new one, perhaps.'  
  
'So who called you the Hawk?'  
  
'The name was chosen for me by the man called Nomad.'  
  
'And who's he?'  
  
'One of the People, by choice and by birth.'  
  
'What people?' Katherine asked.  
  
'The Old People. The first humans in Britain. The Painted People, the Romans called them, and it stuck.'  
  
'The Picts?' She asked in surprise. 'The Savages?'  
  
'You can call them that, if you like.' The Hawk was not so much looking at her, Katherine realised, as watching her movements. 'They were here before the Celts or the Romans or the Saxons. They forged no metal and built no cities, but they lived in this land and with it. They live here still.'  
  
'Alongside the Scots?' She was rewarded by a sudden grin.  
  
'You might say that. I've shared a fire with them a few times, and that's more than most of the locals ever manage. They have the Highlands. The Scots farm and herd in the hills, but the People actually live in them.'  
  
  
  
Wisdom moved around the back of the hall. He had passed through Scone on a couple of occasions in the past, but never really looked around; even so, there were certain basic rules all such places followed, and he had no trouble locating the kitchen entrance. Adjusting his slightly tattered looking cloak he strode in as if he owned the place, walked straight past half a dozen guards, and headed along a corridor to what, from the presence of four armed clansmen, he guessed was the entrance to the royal quarters. The guards, needless to say, moved to bar his way.  
  
Wisdom gently pushed a spear aside, and moved up to the door. One of the other guards grabbed his arm.  
  
'Cassidy in here?' He asked, putting cold confidence into his voice. The guard looked at him for a long moment, and then asked who he was.  
  
'Wisdom to see Cassidy.' There was another brief pause, and then one of the other guards slipped through the door, not opening it far enough for Wisdom to see through. After a short wait he returned, and the spy was ushered into an anteroom.  
  
'So. You're Wisdom.' The man waiting for him was tall and powerfully muscled, a warrior by his garb. He wore the plaid of McKay, and had a pair of swords crossed on his back. Wisdom raised an eyebrow at that; in his experience few rulers allowed people to go about their feasthall so heavily armed, and besides he had never heard of a Clansman who carried such weaponry. Rather more startling, though, was the fact that beneath his leather armour the man was covered in thick orange fur, and his eyes had narrow, cat-like pupils. He certainly was not normal.  
  
'Who're you?' Wisdom asked the man.  
  
'I am Colin McKay, champion of Scone. My lord asked me to greet you in his stead.'  
  
'I take it the Cassidy is busy, then? Or have I managed to piss him off somehow?'  
  
'Have ye managed to piss me off somehow?' His voice barely preceded Sean, Lord Cassidy, Chieftain of Gaillimh and consort of the Witch-Queen of the Scotii, as he strode into the room. Cassidy was half a head taller than Wisdom, broad-shouldered and powerful. Though approaching his fiftieth year his posture was upright and his hair the same red-blonde as always. His ruddy face was lined with care and laughter in equal measure, and he dominated the small room from the moment he entered. 'Six years, Wisdom, and not a word. I hear whispers from the Summer Country, but no more, and when I ask them they claim to know nothing. Sweet mother of mercy, Wisdom, I've been drinking with Scots –' His voice, which had been steadily increasing in volume as he spoke, dropped, losing all trace of anger, and he looked around in mock fear. 'Not that they can't hold the drink, and their whisky's as fine as any in Eyre, but you should see what they have instead of good porter. They've let the bloody Britons get to them, and now half of them swill mead. I'd say ye've managed to piss me off.' He extended his hand and Wisdom took it, wincing as the physically stronger Irishman squeezed his wrist with impressive force.  
  
'Easy, old man.' He muttered.  
  
'Right. Come and get drunk. Are you travelling alone?'  
  
'Nope. Got the Hawk with me, and a woman.'  
  
'Ye'll all three drink with me tonight.' Declared the Cassidy. 'Colin, tell Moira it's an old friend, and I've gone ahead.' And he dragged Wisdom towards the main hall. Behind them Colin slipped through the door by which he had entered.  
  
  
  
On the other side of the door all seemed normal to the orange-furred Champion of Scotland. He moved past a couple of attendants, and bowed to his queen.  
  
'Lady Moira.' He said. 'An old friend of my lord Cassidy has arrived from the south. Your husband even now entertains him.'  
  
'Indeed.' The Witch-Queen was having her hair attended to. It seemed oddly straight to his mind, but after a moment he dismissed that thought, as well as any ideas he might have had that his mistress had, until a couple of weeks previously, never taken such care over her appearance. Moira was past forty, but bearing it gracefully, and could still turn a man's heart when she so desired. Rumours abounded of the lengths to which she had gone to win her current husband from a rival who – again, Colin found his train of thought stopping dead there. The Witch-Queen was speaking once again.  
  
'And who is this friend?'  
  
'A man named Wisdom.' He replied. He did not expect it to mean anything to her, and indeed she showed no reaction beyond dismissing him. Once he had left, however, she addressed the tall, handsome man who stood against the wall.  
  
'Do you remember Wisdom?' She asked.  
  
'No.' He replied shortly. She had rejected him, long ago, and he still resented that.  
  
'A petty man, but dangerous. And he knows how to hold a grudge. Perhaps we should have him killed? Outside of Scone, of course.' She smiled, and somehow the expression did not fit – but then neither did the words coming from her mouth. 'Or perhaps we should use him to our own ends. You have an opinion?' The other said nothing. 'I thought not. For now, we will watch him – find his motivation. The man has a knack for discovering intrigue, and for exploiting it. If he could be persuaded to re-enter the services of his old friend, he might prove very useful.'  
  
  
  
Katherine and the Hawk agreed that they should not really be surprised that Wisdom had managed to get them moved to the high table, where they now sat drinking with a powerful, red-headed Irishman. The Cassidy had persuaded all three of them to partake of a thick, dark-coloured drink that had the texture of broth and the taste of burned malt. He called it porter; Wisdom called it 'that bloody Irish drink'. Even so, he was the only one who showed as much enthusiasm for it as their host.  
  
They had been drinking for perhaps half an hour, which time had been taken up in impenetrable reminisces between the Irishman and the spy, full of reminisces to places Katherine had never been and people she had never heard of. She was able to glean a couple of details from their conversation, though – that the Cassidy knew Wisdom was Gifted, that her lover had once been an employee of the older man, and was still considered a friend by him, and that they had not seen one another for several years. The Hawk seemed to understand a lot more of what was said, but like her he did not really join in the conversation.  
  
Suddenly the Cassidy broke off.  
  
'Forgetting me manners in me old age.' He muttered, and grabbed Wisdom's arm. 'Who's this lovely lady? The Hawk I know for the good-for-nothing scrounger that he is.' The archer smiled with him.  
  
'Katherine.' She told him. 'Daughter of Carmen the Jew.'  
  
'She's my –' Wisdom paused, as always uncertain how best to describe her.  
  
'Travelling companion.' She supplied once again, and the Irishman smiled knowingly.  
  
Something about that smile made Wisdom see red. Lunging forward he caught her wrist, and then turned back to Cassidy and the Hawk.  
  
'No.' He told them. 'Sean, Clint, I'd like you both to meet the woman I love.' The Hawk blinked in surprise. The Cassidy actually rocked back in his chair. Both men had known Wisdom a long time, and seen him pass between many lovers – but they had never before heard him use the word 'love' in anything but cynical tones. It was clear that he meant what he said, and the realisation was, to his old friends, slightly shocking.  
  
Almost before they could recover a door opened at the back of the hall and Moira, Queen of the Scots, entered in splendour.  
  
  
  
A dozen chainmail-clad clansmen escorted her, with at their head Colin MacKenzie, still clad in his armour and with his swords crossed upon his back. The Witch-Queen was dressed in a gown of dark green silk, her rich red hair artfully piled on top of her head, and attended by two tall, dark- haired men, both bearded. One of them bore a remarkable resemblance to the Cassidy. She swept across to the room in imperious silence, and took her place at the Cassidy's left, in the high seat. When she entered all those present, to the most drunken warrior, had risen to their feet en masse; as she sat, so did they.  
  
'Husband.' She said coolly to the Cassidy. Katherine had already glanced at him to gauge his reaction to the woman with whom he was supposed to be in love, and so only she saw the shift in his face. As he turned to his wife it was as if a piece of him switched off, and suddenly he was – different. It was disturbing, she thought for a moment, but then realised that nothing could possibly be wrong.  
  
Wisdom, meanwhile, was surprised by Moira's voice. He had never been formally introduced to the Witch-Queen, but he had seen her several times in the past (and, a corner of his mind whispered, she never wore anything so impractical as that robe, and always left her hair to flow free), and heard her speak (on one occasion at a distance of fifteen feet, from behind a wall hanging, remembering all she said for sale to a petty Chief with a large treasury later), and – this was not the voice he remembered. It sounded – wrong. Before he could consider this, though, he decided that no, it was exactly right.  
  
'Queen.' The Cassidy replied to his wife, and then turned away from her – and seemed to snap back into reality. He gestured to the bearded man who resembled him, and told Wisdom. 'My brother, Tom. You remember Tom, don't ye, Wisdom?'  
  
'I remember.' The spy told his old friend. Looking along the table his eyes met Tom's, and Katherine would have swore that for a moment she felt the air begin to heat. Then Wisdom turned back to his friend. 'Black Tom is back in his brother's good graces?' He asked. He was genuinely puzzled, and so he sounded mildly curious.  
  
'Aye.' Said the Cassidy. He seemed uncomfortable for a moment, but then said, 'there's no sense in letting an argument rupture a family.' Wisdom nodded; for some reason that made perfect sense to him.  
  
Along the table the Witch-Queen frowned; she was beginning to get a headache.  
  
  
  
It was the end of winter, and so the feast was nothing spectacular, but there was plenty of food, and it was well prepared. The Queen retired early, escorted by Black Tom and her other assistant, leaving the Cassidy to drink with his friends, old and new, and to talk. This went on late into the night, until only Wisdom, Katherine, the Hawk and Colin MacKenzie were left with the old Irishman. After a short time the orange-furred warrior rose, made his excuses, and left by the main entrance.  
  
'Where's he off to?' An astonishingly sober Wisdom asked his host.  
  
'Colin likes to watch the walls at night.' The other man told him. 'He's a watchful one, and dangerous.'  
  
'Who's Black Tom?' Katherine interrupted, finally managing to remember.  
  
'My brother.' Cassidy told her. 'All the family I have in the world.'  
  
'When did you make up?' Asked Wisdom.  
  
'Aye, it was –' The older man paused. 'Well, it was never anything really serious between us, ye remember, Pete? He came home a couple of months ago.' He paused, and a puzzled look flitted across his face for a moment, but then he brightened. 'I apologised and – we both apologised, of course, and we've agreed to say no more about it.' Wisdom blinked. There was something massively wrong with that statement.  
  
'What was the cause of your argument?' Katherine asked.  
  
'Oh, he killed my first wife and daughter.' The Cassidy said, and finished his drink, apparently not having registered his own words. Wisdom nodded understanding.  
  
'But you've forgiven him.' He said, and then frowned.  
  
'Aye. Moira'll be asleep by now, and we should really all be headed that way too.' The Cassidy rose and headed out, leaving Wisdom struggling to form a coherent thought.  
  
It must be the alcohol, he decided as servants came to escort him and Katherine to one of the bedchambers. He ignored the fact that, due to the nature of his Gift, alcohol was metabolised at such an accelerated rate that he seldom had time to feel even the beginnings of its effects.  
  
Katherine had no such excuse, and as she undressed she found her thoughts beginning to crystallise. It wasn't just that no one – not even Wisdom – had mentioned the Witch-Queen's missing daughter. Something else was niggling at her, but she could not work out what.  
  
Something was wrong, was all she managed to conclude, but before she could mention it to her lover he had fallen asleep.  
  
----------------------- [1] Pronounced 'Scoon', for all my fellow Sassenachs. 


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I think I forgot to mention in the last part that this is another sequel to my 'The Summer Country', which can be found at Fonts of Wisdom, Fur & Brimstone, and here at Fanfiction.net. Chronologically it occurs before 'The Shard and the Storm', but there is no crossover of characters or plot between those two stories.  
  
Oh yeah, and no prizes for guessing who Jack is.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: In which more people are introduced, our heroes are hunted, and what with one thing and another they finally get bludgeoned about the head by a clue.  
  
  
  
Katherine woke the next morning in her lover's arms. After she had woken him – almost an hour after – she washed with the fresh hot water provided by their hosts and dressed, before heading out to see what the day might hold. Wisdom was only a short distance behind her, but she left him talking with the Hawk, and headed up to the city wall.  
  
Scone was a rich city, and the high wooden stockade had a base of dressed stone – not Roman, for the legions had never reached this far north, but rather the work of the skilled masons of Eyre. Katherine walked along the empty parapet, pausing only to salute a watchman, and enjoyed the fresh, cold air. Before her the hills rose, grey-green and bleak and unutterably lovely; behind, the city was already awake, people going about their business as they did every day. She turned back to the hills, and enjoyed the sight of snow; it seldom fell to settle in the Forest, her last home, and before that – well, before that was something she preferred not to think about.  
  
'Beautiful, isn't it?' Said a voice beside her, and she turned to see the young man who had attended the Witch-Queen the previous night leaning on the wall beside her. He was tall, she now noted, lean-built and startlingly handsome, with a short beard and well-trimmed moustache. His black hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and his clothes were very clearly expensive, yet tough and practical. He smiled at her, beautiful black eyes smouldering, and she found herself smiling in response.  
  
'I can't think of a better word.' She agreed. 'This is the first time I've visited the north.'  
  
'For which the Lord be thanked. If I believed that such a woman as you had passed through this realm and somehow escaped my notice, I should have to give up my reputation and lifestyle, and become a monk. You are not travelling alone?' There was genuine concern in his voice, and she hurried to reassure him.  
  
'No. I'm with my lover, disappointing though you may find that.'  
  
'So long as he is not yet your husband. I am Jason.' The tall man held out his hand, and when she took it, bent over to kiss hers.  
  
'Katherine. I'm with Wisdom and the Hawk.' He suddenly looked up, his face still friendly but with a hint of concern.  
  
'Dangerous men, milady. I do not mean to seem presumptuous, but surely you would be safer in a more settled location? With, perhaps, a better class of man?'  
  
'You think yourself better than –'  
  
'More refined only. I do not doubt that the Hawk is braver and Wisdom – ha! – wiser than I, but –' A guard ran up the steps of the wall twenty yards away and called out.  
  
'My Lord! My mistress demands your attendance.' Jason listened, then turned back to Katherine.  
  
'A courtier's work is never done, I fear. My queen calls, I go. I hope I shall see you again. If ever you do separate from the spy, do look for Lord Wyngarde in Scotland and Eyre.' He strode away.  
  
For some reason it never occurred to Katherine to mention this encounter to Wisdom.  
  
  
  
'Well?' Demanded his mistress when Wyngarde reached her.  
  
'She's confident and strong. Lean, not thin. She's lived hard, and I think she might know how to fight.' Despite their mutual antagonism, based in her contempt for him and his lust for her, they had long since reached an understanding that he would answer her questions with promptitude. However, he was then allowed to make queries of his own. 'Why? They're just two men and a girl. From what you tell me the men are fairly dangerous, but they're still just two men.'  
  
'Jason, you don't seem to understand. You're just a man, and I'm just a woman. Admittedly I rather doubt that either of them would be capable of doing the things we've done, but Wisdom has a knack for finding things out and, I understand, an old friendship with the Cassidy.'  
  
'So? He will see nothing amiss, and if anything occurs to him, he will forget it.' Wyngarde smiled. For her he was a little older than for Katherine, slightly bulkier, and even more handsome.  
  
'So I suspect he may be working for – whoever it is that opposes me. I can't find them. They are clearly a mindwalker, and though not especially powerful, good at concealing themselves. My enemy would need agents of his own – where do you think the wolf girl and has gone? And if they work for my enemy, they could have that information hidden within their minds. I would have trouble reaching it, but you might be able to find it by careful interrogation.'  
  
'Academic, my queen. Did you not encourage them to leave today?'  
  
'Yes, going south. Even so, if they are not already my enemies, they may yet be recruited. Colin!' Across the room the Champion of the Scots, the most skilled swordsman in the Highlands, turned obediently. 'Colin, I think you should despatch a detachment of moss-troopers. There are some brigands disguised as old friends of my husband.' The Witch-Queen's most loyal servant bowed to her, and turned to obey her instructions.  
  
  
  
Neither Kitty nor Wisdom could have said exactly why they were leaving Scone the morning after their arrival, or why they were heading back the way they had come. For some reason this did not concern them until they had been on the main road – which Wisdom had, uncharacteristically, picked as their route – for nearly three hours, and nearing the ten-mile stone. At this point Katherine turned to her lover and asked him, 'Did you find you had difficulty thinking last night?'  
  
'Kitty, I'd been drinking.' He pointed out. 'But, yes.' He frowned. 'I can't really remember how.'  
  
'It seemed that every so often I'd try to think about something, and then just stop and ignore it.' She told him. 'Especially when I tried to think about the Queen Moira.'  
  
'What about her?' Wisdom asked.  
  
'There was something – not quite right about her. I don't know what.'  
  
'Her voice was wrong. So was her clothing. Nothing like she used to be.' He told her. 'And –' He frowned.  
  
'Black Tom killed your friend's first wife?' Asked Katherine. 'And he just apologised and they made up? That made no sense.' He nodded in agreement, and started to reply, but suddenly froze.  
  
'What?' She asked, and he made a curt gesture of silence. She listened, and after a moment heard – hoof beats.  
  
'Off the road.' He told her. 'It could be anybody.' Katherine drew her sword, and then joined him in jumping the ditch that ran alongside their route and hiding in the scrubby bushes. Wisdom had a hard time of it; he knew how to be unobtrusive, but all-out concealment outdoors had never been his strong point. Such things had been Katherine's life for the last third of her eighteen years, though, and she faded into the scenery with an ease born of long practice.  
  
It was less than a minute later that the riders mounted a slight rise a short distance from them. There were a dozen of them, and they carried the bucklers and javelins of moss-troopers, the light cavalry scouts of the Scots. They were riding their horses and a fast but comfortable trot, and looking about them.  
  
Katherine started to rise from cover, but Wisdom grabbed her arm. She glared a question at him, but lay silent until the warriors had ridden past.  
  
'Imagine.' Wisdom whispered in her ear. 'You're a soldier, riding along. They were hunting somebody, Kitty. Now imagine a couple of complete strangers suddenly jump out of the bushes at the side of the road. What do you do?' She nodded in understanding, and they continued walking, now following the tracks of the horsemen.  
  
'So what does it add up to?' She asked him after a few minutes.  
  
'The horsemen?' He asked.  
  
'No. Black Tom, and the strangeness of the Witch Queen, and your friend's behaviour –'  
  
'Search me, kitty.' He said. 'Last I heard Black Tom was marauding in Ireland with a man named Cain. That was almost a year ago, though. He could have found new allies.'  
  
'New allies?' Katherine paused. 'You're thinking there's a mindwalker in Scone, aren't you.' He nodded. 'Did he know any?'  
  
'Black Tom didn't. That doesn't mean they didn't know him. Having the Cassidy's brother on hand would be useful if Sean were to drop down dead.' He paused. 'But most mindwalkers are more subtle than that.'  
  
'Are you speaking from personal experience?' She asked, trying to make a joke of it. She had spent her childhood in a small town just west of the forest, and then her teenage years in the camp of the Nightcrawler. Wisdom, however, was a full decade her senior, and had spent most of his life travelling Britain and Ireland, getting involved in every intrigue of the last fifteen years. She seldom showed it, but Katherine worried that his past had included more interesting women than her, and that one of them might return to him. Considering the only mindwalker she had ever seen had been the Lady Elisabeth Braddock – notable for being tall, statuesque, exotic and beautiful – she was slightly nervous that that was something close to the surface.  
  
Wisdom's expression as he answered, though, was anything but reassuring.  
  
'There were a couple of them.' He looked like he was not enjoying the memory.  
  
'What happened?'  
  
'I had one as a partner, years ago. I thought she was my friend.' His lover blinked. She had never really heard him talk about the details of his past. She knew he was a murderer and a spy, but had never quizzed him about specific incidents – and he had never volunteered any information.  
  
'What went wrong?' She asked.  
  
'She sold us out.' Wisdom's face had gone hard, and Katherine realised that there was no point in pursuing this line of inquiry.  
  
  
  
It was just before noon that they reached the shores of Loch Leven and had to take a brief sidetrack to reach the bridge at the west end of the lake. Just before the bridge, a man was waiting for them.  
  
He was sitting with his back against one of the milestones, wrapped in a heavy coat of black bearskin. His head was bowed, and his long hair hid his face. His only apparent weapon was the thick ash-wood staff that rested against his right shoulder.  
  
He did not move as they approached, and at first it seemed to the travellers that he had died there, propped up against the old marker. When they got nearer, though, it became clear that he was breathing and, when they were less than ten feet away, he stood up.  
  
Like so many others he was taller than Wisdom, though clearly not as tall as the Hawk. He was bulkier than the archer, though, and it was clear that beneath the thick fur his shoulders were as broad and his body as powerful as any mans. Beneath the coat he was dressed in a tattered woollen shirt and trews, unmarked by any badge or tartan, and a pair of finely made leather boots that seemed – incongruous. He had strong features and the weathered skin and narrowed eyes of a man who lived his life exposed to the elements. His eyes were a brown so dark as to verge on black, while his hair was either dark blonde or light brown. He could have been any age from twenty to fifty, Katherine realised.  
  
As he came to his feet his staff had settled in his hand, and now he held it by his side as he stepped forwards. His movements were smooth, predatory – he was dangerous. His expression was guarded, but friendly.  
  
'Katherine and Wisdom.' He said quietly.  
  
'Ain't had the pleasure.' Wisdom replied. 'Who're you?'  
  
'I have been called Jack.'  
  
'Jack?' Asked Katherine. 'Is that your name?'  
  
'As much as any other.'  
  
'That doesn't answer my question. Who are you?' Wisdom demanded, his muscles tensed in readiness to fight.  
  
'Jack-in-the-Green?' He asked conversationally. 'I have been sent to guide you.'  
  
'Guide us where?' Asked Katherine.  
  
'To the valley.' He replied.  
  
'What valley?'  
  
'It has no name.'  
  
'Like the People?' Her question registered, and Jack looked at her with a modicum of respect.  
  
'Very like the People.' He agreed. 'Follow.' He started to turn away.  
  
'No.' Said Wisdom. The bigger man paused, turning back to them. 'Why should we?' He touched Katherine's elbow and turned away.  
  
'Because otherwise you will never find out what is happening at Scone.' Wisdom didn't hesitate, much to Katherine's surprise.  
  
'I'll find out.'  
  
'You will not have the chance.'  
  
'You don't know my methods.'  
  
'Do they work from beyond the grave?' Wisdom and Katherine turned, Katherine drawing her sword. To their surprise the man who claimed the name Jack-in-the-Green stood as before, clearly not threatening them. 'There are riders on the road, Peter called Wisdom and Katherine, daughter of Carmen the Jew. Their orders are to seek you both out, and to destroy you.' He turned and began walking northwest, along a narrow game trail that led away from the road. 'Follow.' He said, and this time they did.  
  
After a few moments a great wolfhound slunk out from the trees and fell in behind the man.  
  
  
  
After a quarter of a mile the three travellers turned off the path and began climbing a thickly wooded hillside. It had started to rain, and the going was muddy and miserable. Katherine had always believed that it was impossible to have a marsh at the top of a hill, but this one seemed to be trying. After a time they climbed over an old dry stone wall, and, walking in the lee of it, were able to make much faster progress.  
  
'Who built the wall?' She asked her companions in general.  
  
'The People. It marked a border for them.' Jack told her.  
  
After over an hour against the wall they left it behind and began climbing once again. Within a short time they topped the treeline and began climbing a steep slope. It was a scramble, but they were able to top a ridge and look down into the valley below.  
  
On this side of the hill it was not raining. The clouds were heavy and the light grey, but the view below them was only all the more beautiful for it. Ahead of them the mountains rose, sloping in to one another, with snow capping the highest. There had been a similar view from Scone, but with the significant difference that rough fields and flocks of sheep could be seen on the hillsides. Here the hillsides seemed bare and bleak, utterly untouched by human civilisation, and even the dark green of the valleys seemed primal and empty.  
  
'It's been a while.' Jack whispered beside her.  
  
'The Picts left this to the Scots?' Katherine asked in disbelief.  
  
'No.' He replied, and pointed to the side. She and Wisdom turned.  
  
There was a man sitting on the ground beside a fire built in the lee of a small cliff. He was small and skinny, clad only in a loincloth. There was an air about him that suggested great age – and, by appearance, he was older than anyone either of them had ever seen before – and also immense understanding. He turned his gaze to them.  
  
Jack walked over and crouched opposite him. Katherine and Wisdom drew closer, uncertain what to do.  
  
The wolfhound moved past them and curled up by the fire, resting its head in the old man's lap. He stroked it briefly, and then looked up at the man and the woman.  
  
'The Old Man would like you to share his fire.' Jack told them without looking round. 'Sit and be welcome.' Wisdom was slightly puzzled, but the Nightcrawler had taught Katherine this long-extinct custom – although where he had learned it she did not know. In ancient times the laws of hospitality had extended far beyond the home, as had the rules that governed a guest. She dropped smoothly into a seated position, and bowed her head to the old man.  
  
'I thank you for your welcome.' She replied. 'I am Katherine of the Forest, and my companion is Wisdom of –' She paused. Wisdom, who was anything but slow, had already sat beside her.  
  
'Britain.' He said shortly.  
  
The old man inclined his head in return. The customs as Katherine had been taught them were that he would now introduce himself. Instead it was again Jack who spoke.  
  
'This is the gateway of the valley.' He told them. He drew a knife from under his coat and leaned forward to poke at one of a brace of grouse roasting on a makeshift spit supported over the fire on a couple of rocks. Katherine blinked in confusion; surely neither birds nor rocks had been there a second before, but now they were crisped and nearly ready to eat.  
  
Jack was speaking again.  
  
'The Old Man wishes you to eat here with him.' He said. 'And me, also.' The wolfhound raised its head – and it seemed to Katherine to be female, its fur a brown that verged on russet – and whined. Jack addressed it directly. 'And you, of course.' He said, and she rolled over onto her back and flopped her paws in contentment.  
  
'I don't like it, Kitty.' Wisdom muttered. 'This place smells of magic.'  
  
'Who are you?' Katherine asked both of their hosts.  
  
'I am – what the Britons call Jack-in-the-Green. This place is the gateway to the valley, and the Old Man is its guardian.'  
  
'Is this a test?' Wisdom asked shortly. Jack raised his head and met his gaze. Wisdom looked into the bigger mans eyes, and for a moment something ancient looked back.  
  
'Yes.' He said simply.  
  
'When does it end?' Asked Katherine.  
  
'At the end of your life.' She was told. Jack lifted the spit off the fire and took the birds off by the simple expedient of splitting them in two. She and Wisdom each received half of a different bird; the other two halves went to Jack and the wolfhound.  
  
The old man watched them eat, no expression on his face.  
  
When they had finished, and the bones had been cast into the fire, Jack rose to his feet once more.  
  
'Follow.' He said.  
  
'Have we passed?' Asked Wisdom.  
  
'You're still alive, aren't you?' The bigger man replied. He moved off, towards the mountains, the wolfhound by his side. After a moment the spy and the outlaw followed.  
  
  
  
It seemed impossible. They were walking along a ridge towards the mountains – and then suddenly the ground seemed to slope away beneath their feet and they could see a valley below them. It was vast – it looked to be at least ten miles across – and really not the sort of thing that could be missed.  
  
Wisdom frowned, but began following the Nomad down a steep path. Katherine hesitated, and looked back.  
  
Behind her she could see the old man sitting on the ridge, but beyond him the mountains rose up, high and close. They had definitely not been there before.  
  
  
  
There was a village in the valley, a gathering of huts around which moved people, small, tough-looking men and women, their faces tattooed and their bodies clothed in fur and wool. Some of them – men and women – carried short swords modelled after the Roman pattern. Few of them paid any attention to the newcomers as Jack led them through the village to a building indistinguishable from any of the others except that the fire pit in front of it was cold and empty. There he picked through the woodpile that rested against one side of the hut, and then set about building a fire.  
  
His wolfhound padded past him and into the hut, nudging the door closed behind herself.  
  
'Well?' Said Wisdom after a moment. 'You offered us an explanation.' Jack drew his knife and struck it against a firestone, dropping sparks into the fire. After a few moments the tinder began to smoulder and he sat back, still holding the knife.  
  
'You'll get one.' He said. 'But not from me. From the Sage.'  
  
'Sage?' Said Wisdom, suspicion and anger in his voice.  
  
'That would be me.' Said a woman's voice from behind them. Katherine and Wisdom turned as one, to see a woman in black, pale skinned, dark haired and swathed in a long cloak. Beneath it she appeared to be slim, but in the same way that Katherine was slim, her body composed of lean muscle. There was an air about her, as if she knew secrets and they weren't pleasant. It was a look shared by Wisdom, and by no one else of Katherine's acquaintance. 'Hello, Peter.' She went on. 'It really has been a while.'  
  
'Tessa.' Said Wisdom, with loathing. He drew his dagger as he spoke. 


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a while, and this is fairly short. I write slowly, even when I know what I'm writing, and Real Life stole my time away. Aside from the archivist, is anyone actually reading this? Feedback is the duty of every reader (and I feedback under another name, so don't be pissed off), just as finishing the bloody story is that of every storyteller. Not that this matters to Steven King. Stupid bastard is probably going to leave Roland and Eddie and Susannah and Jake in limbo forever.  
  
Okay, pointless rant over. This is chapter three, and it's kind of filler, and rather contrived, and if anyone wants to archive this or any other story of mine they're welcome to it - just let me know.  
  
Chapter 3: In which there is a little macho posturing, a certain amount of exposition, Wisdom gets some backstory, and a couple of fairly obvious plot points are confirmed.  
  
Wisdom was a spy. He was not famous, but when those who knew these things really needed the information and did not care about the price, the first man they turned to was always the man called Wisdom. He was known in certain circles for reliability, for loyalty to his employer of the moment, and for independence. What he was not known for was his skill in combat, not because he lacked it but because he preferred to avoid direct confrontation. For him to draw a weapon was rare; for him to initiate combat was almost unheard of.  
  
The woman named Tessa stepped back as he drew his knife. Before he could advance Jack was between them, his staff swinging up to bar Wisdom's path.  
  
There was a soft whisper of steel as Katherine drew her sword, swiftly moving to cover her lover's flank. Around them the villagers stood silent, watching. None of them had yet reached for a weapon, but Katherine was certain that it was only a matter of seconds before someone did.  
  
`This is personal, Jack.' Wisdom whispered, his voice knife-hard.  
  
`If you make it so.' Jack held Wisdom's gaze, and was impressed. `Sheath your blades.' Behind him Tessa moved round to gain an unobstructed view. Although her hand rested on her own dagger, she made no move to draw the weapon.  
  
`I have sworn revenge on her.' Katherine had never seen Wisdom like this.  
  
`I have sworn to protect her.' The bigger man replied, equally determined.  
  
`You honestly think you can stop me?' Wisdom asked, his left hand lifting, fingers spread. His opponent took a step back, dropping into a defensive stance with his staff held ready.  
  
`You honestly think I can't? I am Jack-in-the-Green, the Dervel Scoatt. And I swear to you by my name that the Sage did not betray you.'  
  
`Pete -` Katherine said quietly.  
  
`We should talk.' Tessa spoke for the first time since the confrontation began. There was a moment of tension, and then Wisdom broke eye contact. He glanced around at the assembled villagers, and then slowly sheathed his blade. Tessa walked past him with enviable poise, and sat beside the growing fire. Wisdom turned, and crouched opposite her. Katherine moved to sit at his left, and Jack sat opposite her. There was an awkward silence, and she felt driven to break it.  
  
`Dervel Scoatt.' What kind of name is that?'  
  
`A title.' Said Jack.  
  
`Dervel is old.' Her lover replied. `It means Gift of the Gods.'  
  
`Just as Jack comes from James which means Gift of God.' Jack intervened. `Nothing changes without reason, Wisdom.'  
  
`And Scoatt?' She asked.  
  
`It means, Wanderer.' Wisdom said, looking at Jack with a challenge in his eyes. Katherine realised he was deliberately ignoring the Sage.  
  
Jack met his challenge with a small smile.  
  
`I prefer, Nomad.'  
  
There was another pause, and Wisdom looked across the fire to the slim, pale woman who sat there.  
  
`Was it you in our heads last night?' He quizzed.  
  
`You know I don't have that kind of power.'  
  
`I thought I knew you once. Tell me you did not betray us.'  
  
`I did not betray you.' She told him, and Wisdom's lip curled in a bitter sneer.  
  
`Tell me why I should believe that.' He demanded.  
  
`Because I am here of my own free will.' Said a new voice from the shadows of the doorway of the hut. It was soft and gentle, distinctly feminine but with a rough, almost feral edge to it. Into the waning sunlight there stepped a girl, perhaps a little younger than Katherine. She was short and fine-boned, slim as a wisp, but somehow she did not look delicate. Perhaps it was the richness of her russet hair, perhaps it was the fact that she wore a gentle, friendly smile that displayed small, neat, but somehow fierce teeth, but most likely it was the alert way her blue-green eyes moved across the company, intent and calculating. Her body language was that of a shy young girl, but she had a predator's eyes.  
  
There was a small child, perhaps three or four years of age, toddling just in front of her.  
  
Wisdom rose to his feet almost without thinking and inclined a nod to the girl.  
  
`Princess Rhane.' He said, with an astonishing lack of sarcasm. `You honour us with your presence.' The girl blushed, her colour deepening dramatically. She was bundled up in an old green cloak, and her reddened face made a striking contrast.  
  
`Thank you.' She said, slightly awkwardly. `But out here its just Rhane.' The child ran across to Jack, and climbed into his lap. The princess smiled shyly at him. `She was just waking up.' Katherine was frowning; the girl's eyes looked familiar.  
  
`You were Jack's dog, weren't you?' She asked suddenly. It was no startling deduction; after all, the girl had just emerged from the house into which said dog had vanished, but even so it seemed surprising.  
  
Rhane, whose colour had just been fading back to normal, blushed again.  
  
`Yes. It is my gift. I can - become the wolf.'  
  
`So why are you here?' Demanded Wisdom.  
  
`Frost.' Said Tessa.  
  
The spy sat down heavily, his face pale, terror rapidly turning to anger. His hands were trembling.  
  
`Liar.' He whispered. He stared at her. `You are lying.' There was a pleading note in his voice.  
  
`She is there. You probably ate with her last night.'  
  
`So why weren't you there with her?' He sounded bitter.  
  
`She finally found out I was still working for the Cassidy.'  
  
`Who's Frost?' Asked Katherine.  
  
The man now known as Wisdom was born in Westchester in the first year of the reign of King Christopher the Corsair, who was to become High King of Britain. His mother died when he was young, and so their father, a weaver, raised him and his elder sister. The weaver's business was never a great success, and he had to work long hours to stay afloat, and so the boy named Peter largely ran wild in his childhood, enjoying the streets of the old Roman city.  
  
When he was twelve his father began to teach him the skills of making cloth. When he was fourteen he finally decided that he had had enough, and left home. That same year he manifested his Gift for the first time.  
  
Peter lived in the Forest for a short time, but this was long before the Nightcrawler came to tame the outlaws that lived within, and he found it a harsh place. He soon left, and made his way west, to the coast. There he tried his hand at fishing, but proved incompetent. His captain put him ashore at Loch Garman, in the county of Leign in the Emerald Isle.  
  
Loch Garman has been the hold of Shaw since time immemorial. At this time, though, it was also one of the focal points in a power struggle that took in all Ireland, with at its centre Shaw, whose name is Sebastian, and the Cassidy, Sean, now the consort of the Witch-Queen of Scotland but then simply master of Gaillimh in Connacht. It centred on the efforts of Shaw to have himself crowned king at Tara, and the efforts of the Cassidy to prevent this for - complicated reasons. To say that Shaw was an unscrupulous, evil, power-hungry bastard would not be exaggerating, but the Cassidy had other, less altruistic reasons to deny him the throne even though he did not seek it himself.  
  
Peter's involvement in the struggle began innocently enough. He got a job as a stable boy in an inn, and was as bad at this as he had been at all of his previous jobs. Eventually this brought him into the bad graces of a customer, and in the ensuing confrontation the other man received a broken arm. It transpired that he was a lieutenant of Shaw's, and was able to have Peter declared outlaw. The young man, naturally, fled to Shaw's enemy, and so at the age of sixteen entered the service of Sean Cassidy as a scout and news-finder.  
  
He had been a clumsy weaver, an incompetent forester, a seasick fisherman and an abysmal stableboy. Peter was therefore surprised to discover he had a natural talent for his new trade that the Cassidy found quite astonishing. His skills developed rapidly, as he earned his pay time after time - and, in the process, first gained the nickname of Wisdom. Peter rose rapidly in his master's estimation, and by the time he was nineteen was reckoned the most skilled spy in Connacht.  
  
It was at this point that Wisdom first met the woman named Tessa.  
  
She was the same age as him, and unlike him she made no great pains to hide the fact that she was Gifted - indeed, most of her ability in the dangerous game they played came from her powers as a mindwalker, as well as her analytical intelligence. Wisdom survived the game by talent, gut instinct and luck; the Sage worked by reason, logic, and by tampering with the thoughts of those who opposed her. At the urging of the Cassidy the two became partners, and, without his knowledge -  
  
Tessa had been telling this part of the tale, and now she stopped. The damage was done, though, and Katherine looked to Wisdom.  
  
`Kitty.' He said.  
  
`You don't have to make excuses.' She actually smiled at him. `After all, I was eight years old back then.' He blinked. Tessa looked surprised. `Although if you're unfaithful to me now, I'll come after you with the biggest sword I can find. Continue the story.' Wisdom took up the tale once more.  
  
Wisdom and Sage were friends, partners and lovers, working against Shaw's schemes by guile and by Tessa's powers. They were highly effective - they were able to end the financial dominance Shaw exerted over many of the lesser lords of Ireland, and more importantly to force many of his true allies away from him by blackmail and trickery. Shaw reacted by seeking Gifted of his own.  
  
What he found was the woman now known as the Frost Queen.  
  
No one knows where she came from - not even Wisdom could find out who she was before Ireland. What rapidly became known was that she was a witch of little power but considerable learning. What remained unknown to all but a few - to all but Shaw, and Wisdom, and Sage, and the Cassidy - was that she was a mindwalker, and an immensely powerful one at that. She far eclipsed Tessa, and was rapidly able to undo much of their work.  
  
The Cassidy was a good man, but he was also a strong leader. He did not permit himself to show hesitation in ordering the woman's death, and only Wisdom, who was his friend, could see how much he hated to give the command. It was given in secret, to his two most trusted agents, and they moved to carry it out instantly.  
  
Tessa betrayed Peter. She had been in communication with the Frost Queen through their common power, and she betrayed him in Shaw's hall. Wisdom the spy was captured by the men of Leign, and given to the Frost Queen.  
  
`She sent me to kill the Cassidy. I couldn't do it. Somehow I broke her control.'  
  
`Were it not for me she would have obliterated your mind in its entirety.' Tessa told him. `I went to her on the Cassidy's orders. I betrayed you on his orders, and I suggested using you as her assassin on his orders.'  
  
`Why?' Asked Katherine.  
  
`Because Shaw had won. He still rules Ireland today. Frost was too much of an advantage, and he was elected king five days after I went over to his camp. Except that really it was Frost's camp.'  
  
`You betrayed him, too?' Wisdom whispered.  
  
`Frost betrayed him. Cassidy had ordered me to stay close to Frost. I obeyed him.'  
  
`So why didn't he tell me?'  
  
`Because the Frost Queen had been in your head, and he couldn't be sure she wasn't still. Not without me.'  
  
`Mister Wisdom.' Interrupted the princess. `My mother is a prisoner in her own stronghold. Please believe Tessa. We can't rescue her without you.'  
  
`Prisoner?' Asked Katherine.  
  
`We don't know how, but Frost is impersonating the Queen Moira.' Tessa told them.  
  
`What makes you think she'd still be alive, then?' Asked Wisdom. `If what you say is true, she could probably dispense with her. And even if she is, what good would I do?'  
  
`What good will we do.' Put in his lover. Wisdom turned to look at her in surprise, and then paused.  
  
`I don't suppose it'd do any good to tell you that this is my unfinished business?' His tone was resigned.  
  
`Only if you also said you didn't love me. Tessa?'  
  
`She will be alive. Frost will want her skills as a healer, in which she is second to none, and her knowledge of Scotland, at least for now. Rescuing her is the first step towards protecting the land from becoming the Frost Queen's personal domain.'  
  
`So you actually have a plan?'  
  
`I can hide us from Frost. Nomad - Jack - is as good a fighter as any, and we may have need of that eventually, and Rhane will be able to find her mother wherever she is.'  
  
`So what do you need us for?' Wisdom asked again.  
  
`If I'm hiding us from Frost I can't really use my powers otherwise. We need your skills, Pete. You have a knack for getting in to places, and a knack for getting back out.'  
  
`I also, if this Nomad character is to be believed, have men hunting me up and down the road between here and Scone. Bad odds.'  
  
`The gateway to the valley is not fixed. When we leave the valley we will be where we need to be.' Jack told him.  
  
`Is that why you call yourself Nomad?' Asked Katherine. Jack actually broke a smile, and adjusted the child that sat in his lap.  
  
`No. I do not live here. I am truly a nomad. Except that I have undertaken to aid the Sage, I and my buck would be wandering still.'  
  
`Buck?' Katherine was puzzled. The child looked up, and gave her a delighted, gap-toothed smile and a wave of one small hand. `Your child?'  
  
`In a way.' He smiled, and then looked grim. `Her parents are dead. I took her in, just as the last Nomad took me in and raised me as a son.'  
  
`And she's going to be the Nomad after you?'  
  
`Only if she chooses.' Jack rose to his feet, swinging Buck onto his back as he did so and then lifting his staff. `We should move now. I don't know how far from Scone the Old Man will put us when we leave the valley.'  
  
`How about five hundred miles?' Wisdom had been thinking, looking into the fire, and he did not look away as he asked this question.  
  
`If you asked him, I am sure he would do that.' Tessa told him.  
  
`We would not try to stop you.' Rhane added. As she stood up her form seemed to blur slightly. Her shoulders thickened, her canines elongated slightly and her hair became rather redder. Her ears were suddenly pointed, and set slightly further back on her skull than before. It was extremely disconcerting. `But it would be kind of you to stay.' It was odd in the extreme to hear that gentle, slightly apologetic voice coming with growling undertones from a woman who suddenly looked as if she would be able to rip a man's throat out with her teeth.  
  
`Will you come with us?' Jack asked now. Katherine looked at Wisdom. Wisdom still did not look away from the fire.  
  
`I don't trust you, Tessa.' He told her. `You might be telling some truth, but you're keeping a lot back.'  
  
`Naturally. I would do the same with any man.'  
  
`And if you betray us I'll kill you in a heartbeat.' He stood, and handed Katherine her sword. `You ready to go, Kitty?'  
  
The five of them turned and walked out of the valley.  
  
In Scone, the man known as the Hawk stood before the Queen and listened and believed as she told him of the impostor who had somehow taken the form of his old friend Wisdom, and agreed to aid Colin McKay in tracking the man down.  
  
The Frost Queen could no longer sense Wisdom, and feared that by trying to remove him from the conflict unawares she might well have sent him straight into the arms of her enemies. 


	4. Chapter 4

Just to remind y'all, standard disclaimers apply. Feel free to archive, feedback or ignore this and any other story of mine.  
  
  
  
Chapter 4: In which there takes place fencing, fighting, mutants, magic, chases, daring rescues and just the faintest hint of True Love (or at least Mad Love, which is the next best thing). Also, Wisdom and Moira completely fail to have the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship.  
  
  
  
To the surprise of all concerned, the gateway emerged in the craggy hills over a days march to the west of Scone. Jack instantly recognised their surroundings, though, and started them moving – not straight to the city, but slightly to the north. Towards evenfall they reached a river, and he led them up it a short distance to where a bridge crossed just below a waterfall.  
  
The bridge was old, made of pine planks laid between a pair of oak beams. It had no handrail, and was constantly showered with spray from the falls, which towered forty feet above it.  
  
'What is this place?' Katherine asked. Tessa shrugged, and Jack ignored the question, and so Rhane, walking just behind him where she could make faces at Buck, was left to reply.  
  
'Alanbridge, in Glen Shee, this place is called. According to legend a man named Alan McPherson held it against an entire war party for half a day, and then climbed the cliff to safety. We are on the edge of the valley of the Tay, just below Blairgowrie. This river is the Shee. We are on McPherson lands.'  
  
'Is that bad?'  
  
'The McPhersons are kin to my mother, and loyal. When we have her with us, their chief – the Cluny – will not give us up were the legions of hell beating at his door, much less a band of renegades from the Emerald Isle.'  
  
'Unless the Frost Queen controls him as well.' They walked on in silence, soon reaching a road. Jack led them parallel to it for several miles, during which time they saw no one, and then moved into the thick pine forests that lined the way to make camp for the night.  
  
  
  
'Why this way?' Colin McKay asked the Hawk as they climbed into the hills, a score of his clansmen strung out behind them.  
  
'If you lost him on the road it's because he abandoned it. He has to know there's people hunting him by now; either he's fleeing south as fast as he can travel, in which case we'll do no more good than your riders by following him, or he's circled round to escape detection. That's what I'd do.'  
  
'And why up the Tay? Why not to the east?'  
  
'Because we've got every ferry on the Firth of Tay watched, and if he has any sense he'll have guessed as much, and Fife itself isn't big enough for him to hide in, and if he has any sense he'll know that too.' The tone of his voice suggested that if he had any sense Colin would have worked this out for himself. 'No, he'll have headed west before Loch Leven, and either be circling to get north of Scone for – whatever his purpose is –' The Hawk trailed off, in a moment of uncertainty. After a second he shook it off.  
  
'Or?' Colin prompted.  
  
'Or he'll be running west into the Highlands, and won't be able to head south until he hits Loch Lomond. It's hard country between there and here, and Wisdom was never gifted in finding his way through the wilderness.'  
  
'But this man is an imposter. Who knows what his skills are?'  
  
'He's enough like Wisdom to fool me. If he has struck out west, we'll still be able to catch him.' The Hawk hefted his unstrung longbow ahead of him and used it to help himself vault a small burn. Behind him McKay and his men waded through, the icy water reaching their knees. Once through, the Champion of Scotland hurried to catch up with the archer, who had not slowed.  
  
'We'll need to stop soon, for the night.' The Hawk nodded.  
  
'We'll be at that hut we spotted earlier in about half an hour.' He replied. 'It's just below the shoulder of this hill.'  
  
They were twelve miles from Wisdom and his companions.  
  
  
  
Katherine was woken at dawn the next day by the smell of frying mushrooms. The princess and Jack, she saw, were already up and moving. Rhane was curled up beside the fire, looking alert but relaxed, licking the claw-like nails that grew from her fingertips. The previous day Katherine had observed how the wolf-girl covered the ground with an easy, loping stride that carried her along at a far faster rate than she could, presumably, have managed in her normal appearance, but she distinctly remembered her returning to human form before settling down to sleep. Beside her sat the Nomad, carefully tending a sizzling frying pan. Tessa and Wisdom were still asleep, and Buck was up and moving, but only enough to keep herself snuggled in her foster-father's bearskin cloak.  
  
'Morning.' Rhane greeted her, and then yawned, displaying a frightening array of teeth. 'There'll be cold rabbit and mushrooms soon, and then we'll be heading off to Scone.'  
  
'What's the plan when we get there?' She asked.  
  
'Och, I'm sure your man will think of something. Tessa tells me he's good at his job, one of the best. Hadn't you better wake him now?'  
  
Katherine prodded her lover a couple of times. He murmured something profane, and then reached out to grab her in a manner that she would have welcomed were it not for the audience.  
  
'Pete! We are not alone here.' She told him, slapping his hand. He groaned, and opened his eyes. A blushing Rhane brought over a water skin, and both of them drank briefly. Meanwhile Rhane moved to wake up the Sage.  
  
Twenty minutes later they were all awake and breakfasted, and more or less ready to go – although Tessa and Wisdom showed every sign of not being morning people, and Buck, strapped to Jack's back, had gone back to sleep. Jack carefully extinguished their fire and threw the leftovers of their meal out of sight into the bushes. Then he led them out, with Rhane bringing up the rear.  
  
The trip down Glen Shee was made without speaking, for the most part, with only the occasional swear word from Wisdom as he stumbled on the steep, rough hillside to break the silence. Tessa had almost as much trouble with the terrain as her old friend, but their three companions moved over it easily. After nearly three hours Katherine moved up to walk beside the Nomad.  
  
'Why are you doing this?' She asked him. 'It's not that I'm questioning your motives, I'm just interested in knowing what they are.'  
  
'These hills are old.' He told her. 'The People were here first, raiders and herdsmen. They lived on the hillsides, they kept sheep and hunted deer, and they raided the lowlands and took from the Britons. Then came the Romans, with their iron and their law and their – uniformity. By luck the Romans did not bother with the Highlands, and instead built the two walls to keep us from their lands and their towns. They named the walls after their Emperors, Hadrian and his son, Antoninus Pius. After the Romans the Britons tried to hold the walls, but they had not the numbers or the methods of the Romans, and the People raided them once more, but under the Romans the Britons had moved south, and the pickings were slimmer. Then came the Scots. They were farmers, and they set a King above their chieftains, but they were much like the People. That is why the Irish called them the Scotii, the Wanderers. They wandered into this land, into the Highlands and the plains, and they built themselves a kingdom. They built farms in the shadows of the mountains, and kept sheep on the hillsides, and those that were left of the People could live in comfort.' He paused, and glanced at Katherine before continuing. 'The Valley is a special place to the People. It is where they gather, every tenth year, to negotiate disputes and consider laws. Six years ago the Scots sent envoys to the Valley, to attend the gathering.'  
  
'How did they find the valley?' Katherine had to ask.  
  
'They were escorted by the man called Hawk, a friend of mine. Before he would bring them he came to me for advice, and I took him to the Old Man. The Witch-Queen's envoys came to the gathering bringing gifts for our ruler, but we have no ruler. Instead they spoke to a gathering of chieftains, and divided the gifts between them.  
  
'They asked for an alliance between our people and theirs, between Pict and Scot. They asked for an end to the raids, in exchange for a portion of the yearly harvest of the farmers, a portion of what their Queen already took in taxes. They asked for our aid in war, as scouts and as raiders against their enemies. And they asked for our loyalty, that we should consider ourselves subjects of the Witch-Queen, bound and protected by her law.'  
  
'What did you say?' Their path had turned, and they were now climbing the south side of the valley.  
  
'We agreed.' The Nomad smiled. 'The People have no single leader, and so it was I who made my mark upon the treaty. Therefore it is my duty to uphold it, to give the Witch-Queen aid in war and loyalty in peace. At the New Year the Princess Rhane brought the Sage to me, and they asked for my aid, and since then we have been awaiting an opportunity to combat the Frost Queen.'  
  
Katherine was about to ask him more, but was pre-empted by her lover, walking just behind them.  
  
'What are you among the People?' He asked bluntly.  
  
'When the Romans came the Derfel Scoatt gathered the People against them. When the Britons returned they learned to fear the Huntsman. When the Saxons marched northward the Wodwoe was their enemy, and until seven years ago the Scotii had reason to fear the one they called Jack-in-the-Green. There has always been a Nomad, envoy in peace and champion in war. These twelve years past, that has been me.' He stopped as they topped the ridge they had been ascending, apparently unaffected by the difficult climb. Behind them Tessa and Wisdom were breathing hard. Rhane, climbing on all fours despite her humanoid shape, seemed if anything even less winded than the Nomad, who now pointed.  
  
'Scone.' He said, and from the ridge top they could see five miles along the valley of the Tay to where the first city of Scotland sprawled between river and hill, the hall of the Witch-Queen looming on the northernmost, highest edge. The snow that still lay thick on the ground seemed to somehow upset the scale, so that it seemed for a moment as though they were looking at a small model a few yards away.  
  
'We'll need to get to the north of the place.' Wisdom pointed. 'Then we go in at night. Rhane, wolves can follow a man's scent. Can you find the Queen?' The girl nodded. 'Then it'll be you, Katherine and me. Tessa, I assume you can hide us from Frost?'  
  
'Yes. But only if you're within a couple of miles, and I won't be good for much else.' Wisdom was thinking now, his mind circling their goal as he considered all the problems they would face.  
  
'She'll be guarded, of course, but probably nothing the three of us can't handle. Frost will have alarms of some sought, though, and she may be in the Queen's head. We might have to carry her out, and there'll definitely be at least some pursuit. Jack, we'll need horses. I assume we can all stay on one of the bloody things?'  
  
'They don't like me.' Said Rhane. 'I can keep up when I'm the Wolf, though.' He nodded.  
  
'We'll need to be fast. Get her and get out, hide in the hills until dawn and then –' He paused. 'Then they'll be searching for us. Where will the old man be meeting us?'  
  
'Where he left us.' Jack told him. 'I can get horses from Scone, but they won't hide easily.'  
  
'Is there anyone in town?' Wisdom asked.  
  
'No.' Tessa told him.  
  
'We go at night, abandon the horses after a few miles if we can't see any pursuit, and then run into the hills. We should be back in the valley by sundown tomorrow.'  
  
'Assuming they don't catch us.' Put in Katherine.  
  
'It's not much of a plan.' Said Rhane. 'What about the details?'  
  
'We'll make them up as we go along.' Wisdom told her. 'Always the best way.'  
  
  
  
Ten miles behind them the Hawk led McKay and his men into the campsite that their prey had used. The fire was cold, and the hollows and scuffmarks left in the snow could have been there since the last snowfall, nearly two weeks previously.  
  
'They spent the night here.' Said the Hawk, crouching beside the ashes. 'The pretender, Katherine, and three others. A woman, a child, a –' He paused, lifting a tuft of red-brown fur and sniffing it. 'A very large dog and a man.' He ran the end of his bow along a furrow in the snow, six feet long and as wide as his wrist. 'The Nomad.' He straightened, and added almost to himself, 'And the child would be Buck.'  
  
'Nomad?' McKay asked him. 'What would the Pict be doing with this man?'  
  
Hawk did not answer, but his expression was troubled.  
  
  
  
As night fell Wisdom, Rhane and Katherine left Tessa and Jack with the five horses the big man had liberated and slipped over the wall at the back of the Royal Hall. Moving swiftly and silently past the watchmen, they edged up to the bulk of the building.  
  
'I don't smell her.' Whispered Rhane. The princess appeared more animal than human, her face elongated and snout-like, her ears pricked, and her entire body coated in fur. If she changed much further she would no longer be able to wear her clothes. Wisdom nodded, and then gestured his two companions to follow as he carefully paced along the wall.  
  
It had been a long time since Wisdom had had cause to slip into this place – the last time had been five years previously, before the Witch-Queen had taken in Rhane or married the Cassidy. Then he had had the advantage of going in alone and unexpected. Now he had the advantage of going in with Katherine.  
  
'Here.' He murmured to her, tapping the wall. She looked up, seeing it rising up sixty feet, the lowest windows on the second level. They were behind the citadel, the near-impregnable fortress of Scone. There were only two entrances, and the place had been designed so that a dozen men could hold it against a thousand. The doors would, Wisdom knew, be heavily guarded.  
  
If he were the Frost Queen he would have kept Moira nowhere else.  
  
'In here?' Whispered Rhane. 'We've no way –' And Katherine grabbed her arm with one hand and Wisdom's hand with the other and stepped forwards, pulling them both through the wall[1].  
  
  
  
McKay and the Hawk had reached Scone just after sunset, after a hard march that had taken up the remains of the short day. When they arrived the evening meal was in progress, and so they could not reach the Witch-Queen. Instead they moved side-by-side to the back of the hall, before beginning to edge closer to the high table.  
  
They were nearly there when Black Tom Cassidy moved to meet them.  
  
'Well?' He asked. 'You have killed Wisdom?' Neither warrior was fond of the Witch-Queen's aggressive brother-in-law, but when he arrived in Scone he had been named one of her closest advisors, and so they had to respond.  
  
'He circled round.' The Hawk told him.  
  
'We tracked him towards Scone, and lost him on the outskirts.' McKay added. Black Tom stared at them, his eyes going vacant for a moment as he communicated with his mistress.  
  
'You'd better be finding out what his purpose is here, then.'  
  
'How do you propose we do that?' The Hawk asked, his tone harsh.  
  
'Go back and find his trail again.'  
  
'I'm a forester. I can't track a man through paved streets. Besides, if you were sneaking in to the Witch-Queen's stronghold –'  
  
'The Queen.' McKay muttered. The other two men looked at him. 'He was with the Cassidy two days ago. Why else would he come back here? He's going to kill the queen.'  
  
'Call out the guard.' Snarled Black Tom. 'Keep watch on the streets.'  
  
'The Queen –' Began McKay.  
  
'My men will be guarding her.' The Irishman told him, already striding back towards the high table. He made an emphatic gesture, and four Leignsmen moved up to form a phalanx around the Frost Queen.  
  
The archer and the champion exchanged glances, and then hurried out to search for the infiltrators.  
  
  
  
There was a girl waiting for Black Tom just inside the citadel. She was slim and pretty, with long red hair, and she bore a surprising resemblance to his brother.  
  
'What's happening, Tom?' She asked. 'Am I to see the Cassidy tonight?'  
  
'No. There's an alarm, Teresa. We may have raiders who've got inside the citadel. Ye'd best go to your room and wait.' Behind him the Irish guards were beginning to arrive.  
  
  
  
Five minutes later the Frost Queen swept through the narrow gateway of the citadel, accompanied by Jason, Black Tom, and a dozen bodyguards.  
  
  
  
Two levels below ground, Rhane hesitated, sniffing the air.  
  
'Down there.' She pointed down a corridor at right angles to their current route. Wisdom and Katherine followed her down. The short hallway terminated at a tall, narrow, and above all heavy oak door. Rhane pointed straight at it, and Wisdom nodded. He squeezed past her awkwardly, and then reached into his belt pouch for a lockpick. Katherine could have walked the three of them through the door as easily as the stone wall, but she could not have then brought both of them and the cell's occupant out at once, and it had been agreed that they should not split up for any reason.  
  
It took Wisdom less than five minutes to open the door – though he could not help but think that his old friend Gambit would have been through in a tenth of the time. He shoved it inward and stepped over the threshold.  
  
A rough wooden plank, lifted from the pallet that lay against one wall, was swung straight into his jaw before he could react. He went down.  
  
'Mum!' Rhane yelled, and rushed to stand over him. Looking past her Katherine saw a slime, red-haired woman who would have been the spitting image of the Queen who had entertained them two nights previously, except that her hair hung loose and lank and her clothes, while clearly expensive, also looked tough, practical and as if they hadn't been changed for at least a week.  
  
The Witch-Queen blinked at her daughter.  
  
'Rhane?' She seemed nonplussed for a moment, but then reached down to hoist Wisdom to his feet. 'I assume you have a way out planned?' Katherine hurried forward to help support her lover.  
  
'Rhane, lead the way.' She ordered, and the wolf-girl nodded and hurried down the corridor. 'We'll need to go up two floors, then out to meet Jack and Tessa.'  
  
'Then where?' Moira asked.  
  
'West. A few miles above Alanbridge, I think.' The four of them hurried swiftly down the corridor and up two flight of stairs. At the top Katherine found Rhane stopped dead, sniffing the air.  
  
'Someone's coming.' She whispered, pointing along the corridor. Katherine looked down at Wisdom, still unconscious and with a rapidly darkening bruise across his face. When she looked back up Moira at least had the grace to look slightly guilty.  
  
Katherine gestured, and they began to ascend the next flight of stairs. If they were lucky, the searchers would go down first, and they would be able to slip out past them.  
  
As they reached the next floor a cry went up from below.  
  
'The gaoler is unconscious! Check the prisoner!'  
  
The three women crouched together, listening. Behind them a short corridor stretched the length of the citadel, intersecting with another passageway at the centre. Although its walls were curved, the fortress retained the essentially foursquare design popularised by the Romans centuries before. There were only four rooms on this floor, and only one of them was occupied.  
  
Behind Katherine's back, a door was silently opened.  
  
  
  
The young woman named Teresa was, although she did not know the details, the daughter of Sean Cassidy. She had been raised by her uncle Tom, who had told her that her father had abandoned her, but despite this she felt a deep desire to be accepted by the man. The day Black Tom had told her that they were travelling to Scone had been one of the happiest of her life, and in the following weeks she had constantly chafed for a chance to meet him. Thanks to the Frost Queen's manipulations, though, she had only seen him and his 'wife' from afar – but it was enough. As she exited her room she recognised the older woman instantly.  
  
Before she could say anything, Rhane caught her scent. Her head snapped round, teeth bared, and Teresa took a step backwards. An instant later Katherine had seized her, pressing her to the wall with a hand over her mouth and a dagger held to her throat.  
  
'If you value your life,' the outlaw's tone was low and deadly, 'don't scream.' Teresa nodded, and the hand was removed from her mouth.  
  
'Majesty?' She whispered. Moira turned to look at her.  
  
'What is it, girl?'  
  
'What's happening?' The Queen frowned.  
  
'Do I know you?'  
  
'Nae. I may be your husband's daughter.' Moira stared at her for a long moment. 'I'd know if I could just meet him, but these past five weeks he would not see me.' Below them shouts could be heard, and feet descending the stairs. A short distance away Wisdom was groaning and beginning to move. Katherine removed her blade from the older woman's throat, and hurried to help her lover to his feet.  
  
'Let's go.' She murmured.  
  
'These past five weeks his mind has not been his own.' Moira told Teresa. 'But come away with us, and there may yet be hope.'  
  
'Uncle Tom –' The girl began, already beginning to follow the Witch-Queen.  
  
'If you truly are Sean's daughter, then Black Tom is the man who killed your mother.'  
  
  
  
Wisdom was able to walk by himself by the time they reached the ground floor. As he paused, looking around to check their location, he gently probed his jaw, and winced.  
  
Katherine, crouched beside him, looked at him with concern.  
  
'I'm okay, Kitty.' He reassured her. 'No thanks to that ungrateful harridan.' He glanced up at the descending monarch. 'You'd better take her and the princess out first.' She nodded, and started towards them. 'And Kitty? Be ready for an ambush. It's going too well.' As the young woman took the hands of her first two charges, Black Tom Cassidy appeared around the curve of the spiral stairs.  
  
'True.' He said, and raised the wooden shillelagh[2] he held in his right hand, and unleashed a blast of dark golden energy.  
  
  
  
As Black Tom Cassidy yelled out an alarm to the guards behind him, everything seemed to happen at once.  
  
Wisdom leaped backward, narrowly avoiding his first attack. The blast impacted right next to him, the concussion lifting the young Briton off his feet and slamming him into the far wall.  
  
Behind him Katherine grabbed the Queen Moira and the Princess Rhane and jerked them backwards through the wall, to stumble down the short drop between what was floor level within the citadel and actual ground level outside.  
  
And Teresa rushed forwards to confront her uncle.  
  
'Did you do it?' She demanded.  
  
'What?' He snarled, trying to push past her in order to finish off Wisdom. Behind him several of his warriors began to hasten up the stairs; others rushed to the staircase at the opposite corner of the fortress.  
  
'Did you kill my mother?' He stared at her in surprise.  
  
'I don't have time for this.' He snarled, and struck her aside with a blow of his shillelagh before raising it to finish off Wisdom.  
  
Katherine stepped back through the wall five feet away, sword drawn, and took in the situation at a glance. As Teresa fell to the floor the outlaw stepped past the girl and drove her sword forward in a perfect lunge that impaled the Irishman's wrist. Black Tom's hand spasmed open, his own weapon dropping to the floor. A guard burst out of the stairwell beside him, sword drawn, and Wisdom, recovering, unleashed a fistful of blades of pure heat that sliced cleanly through wooden shield, leather armour, and human flesh and bone, dropping him dying to the floor. Two more warriors appeared at the far end of the main corridor, and another started to push past the twitching corpse on the stairs.  
  
Katherine had killed before, in battle with the Saxon Marauders, but they had been armed and trying to kill her. Black Tom was wounded and unarmed, and she therefore hesitated to strike him down despite his attempting to kill her lover. Instead she kicked him in the crotch with clinical precision, and then slammed the sword hilt into the back of his head. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Beside her Wisdom had killed the next man up the stairs, and she took the momentary respite this bought them to grab him by the arm and pull him towards the wall, looking around for Teresa as she did so.  
  
Teresa faced off alone against the two advancing Leignsmen. They moved forward slightly hesitantly; although she was clearly aiding their enemies, she was still the ward of Black Tom, favoured of their mistress.  
  
As they hesitated, Teresa screamed, and the roof fell in.  
  
By the time the Frost Queen and her guards forced their way up past the corpses, the intruders had vanished completely.  
  
  
  
Outside the expanded party rode west over the snow. Due to the unexpected addition of Teresa, Katherine and Wisdom shared a horse, and because her animalistic form tended to upset the horses Rhane was running several dozen yards ahead, finding their way. They rode at a fast canter, trying to get the maximum of distance out of their mounts without tiring them.  
  
As they crossed the bridge over the Tay, their horses' hooves rang loud into the night. A quarter of a mile away, on the city wall, Colin McKay and the Hawk heard the noise clearly. In these troubled times, riders in the night could only be dishonest, and their prey were the most likely candidates.  
  
'They have horses.' The Hawks voice was grim.  
  
'To Horse!' His companion yelled to his men, and they rushed towards the royal stables.  
  
  
  
In the stables of an inn on the western edge of the city this exchange was overheard by a tall, powerful figure, armoured and masked in red and black. Earlier he had heard a sound echoing from the citadel, a sound that he had heard but twice in his life more than six months before but that he would recognise if he did not hear it again for a millennium. He had instantly risen and headed to prepare his own steed, and now he tightened a final girth and led it out into the street.  
  
'I'll find you, Terry.' He muttered, and the Dead Man rode into the night.  
  
----------------------- [1] Yep, now tell me you didn't see that one coming.  
  
[2] I'd just like to mention that I got the spelling on this right first time, which I think is kind of impressive, on an extremely petty level. While I'm down here, though – did you really think I'd write a story with Sean and Black Tom, but no Teresa? I am NOT putting the Juggernaut in, though. The cast is large enough as it is. 


	5. Chapter 5

Another long break – too much work. Again. There ain't no such thing as an original excuse, but can I just add – Finals. And Dissertation. Also, there's been Elizabeth My Dear and Save for the Grace.  
  
Oh yeah, and my Hotmail went wrong and wiped six unread messages, so if you're wondering why I haven't replied – just try again. Please. I need feedback more than chocolate.  
  
  
  
Chapter 5: In which there is a little more backstory, a little more violence, and a little more Mad Love.  
  
  
  
Just after dawn, the Nomad called a halt.  
  
'What's happening?' Demanded Wisdom who, never a horseman, considered the preceding madcap ride in near-total darkness to have been one of the most unpleasant experiences of his entire life so far, including the occasion when he discovered that the only time Shaw talked openly about his plans was in the Roman-style four-seat latrine of his fortress, and had to spend three days eavesdropping.  
  
'Rest.' Rhane told him, as close to human as she could become without being obviously naked. Wisdom reacted by falling sideways from the saddle, and it was all the princess could do to catch him. Luckily Katherine could ride a little better than her lover, and helped the wolf-girl lower him to the floor.  
  
'The horses seem fine.' She said. 'Good for another couple of hours, at least.'  
  
'We rest now, and they'll be good until the afternoon. We keep riding like this, and they'll drop dead before full light.' Jack told her. 'Look at them – Rhane's not ten feet away, and they're too tired to care.'  
  
Moira, dismounted, stretched her spine and grunted.  
  
'Remind me to put proper bedding in yon cells.' She muttered as she moved towards them.  
  
'Hello, mum.' Rhane said, slightly nervously. 'These are my friends, Tessa and Katherine and Jack and Mr Wisdom, who you hit. And this is –'  
  
'Teresa Cassidy.' The redhead introduced herself. 'What's going on?'  
  
'Now there's a story.' Tessa said.  
  
'Which can wait until we've dealt with the horses.' The Nomad interrupted. 'Tessa, Rhane – with me and Buck. We'll rub them down. The rest of you – get their saddles off and then take them down to the river one or two at a time.' He started to turn away, swinging the child down from his back, and then stopped and added, 'With your permission, your majesty.'  
  
  
  
The Witch-Queen Moira had learned the healer's art from Nathaniel the Shaper over twenty-five years before, when his wife and son still lived, before he sold his soul to the Forever Walker and became an enemy of the Summer Country. She had been young then, little more than a girl, and fiercely determined to become the equal of any man who would be set against her. As the only surviving child of the King of the Scotii, she was expected to do no more in life than to marry a suitable, strong, nobleman and bear him a son – and, eventually, she had done that, marrying the McTaggart, Lord of Ross.  
  
Their union had been bitter and their offspring murderous. The child Kevin had killed Moira's husband and then her father, determined to claim the throne before his time. The cat-man Colin McKay had rescued Moira then, killing her son and thereby becoming a regicide. The punishment for that should have been death, but because of the circumstances it was agreed that he should have his sentence commuted to loyal and absolute service until death to the woman he had 'wronged', now Queen of the Scotii.  
  
McKay and the Queen owed one another life and loyalty, and would not betray either for the world.  
  
McKay's past was unknown. Rumour had it that he had been taken by the fairies as a boy, and that the Smith-God himself, Wayland, Lord of the Forge, had created the twin blades that rested on his back, and he had never denied these stories. Rumour had it that his mother had lain with a demon in the form of a great wildcat before his birth, but such rumours always arose around even the most vaguely animalistic of Gifts. Rumour had it that he was the most skilled warrior in Scotland, and thus far history supported this last. He had served the Witch-Queen of the Scotii for six long years, and in all that time none had ever come close to defeating him while he wielded his twin blades.  
  
Beside him rode Clint, the man called Hawk. The Hawk had been born a Saxon, but had abandoned his people when their lord took to the darkness.  
  
Once, he had walked with the Marauders.  
  
He had been married once, to a woman of his own people. Her name had been Morse, and she was twelve years dead. Since then, the Hawk had walked alone. He was one of the most skilled woodsmen in Britain, and probably the finest archer in the world.  
  
Like his friend Wisdom, the Hawk did not particularly like horses.  
  
McKay and the Hawk rode at the head of a force of nine Clansmen, the rest of their small force having been unable to keep up due to poor horsemanship or poor mounts. Behind them trailed half a dozen Leignsmen, escorting Black Tom. His wounds hastily bandaged, the Irishman had been sent to make sure that Clint and Colin did not uncover the Frost Queen's deception – and if they did, to make sure they did not bring the word back to Scone.  
  
Even during the night tracking their prey had been easy for the Champion's party – five fast-moving horses leave a clear trail even under normal circumstances, and in the thick snow that still covered the ground they could have walked to Wisdom's party blindfold.  
  
It was simply a matter of time, and not exhausting the horses.  
  
  
  
Parallel to the pursuers, and slightly ahead, the Dead Man rode on a horse with muffled hooves. He was clad in dull grey chain and leather the colour of old blood and his black and crimson mask hid eyes that had long been leeched of all colour.  
  
There were many stories about the Dead Man. Most of them seemed improbable. Most of them were true.  
  
He did not make a sound as he rode, despite the many weapons he carried.  
  
  
  
Teresa was the daughter of the Cassidy by his first wife.  
  
She did not know this, but from her age and from the fact that her kinship to Sean was written clear on her face and in her Gift her companions were able to piece this fact together in short order. When Wisdom first served the Cassidy he had had a wife and an infant daughter; in his absence his home had been attacked and burned to the ground by his brother.  
  
Teresa had been raised by Black Tom, who had treated her almost like his own. Always he had told her that her true father had rejected them both in his arrogance, and also that he was working to have her recognised by the Cassidy as his child. Moira herself could assert that no such thing had ever happened; even now, happily married to her, Sean daily mourned his lost family – or he had, before the Frost Queen came. Teresa had been unaware of Frost's identity and plans, and when they told her of the layers of deception to which her uncle had been party she was shocked.  
  
Before Scotland she and Black Tom had worked often in partnership with the man named Cain, and she had seen what she had thought was a normal comradeship. Looking around now, she saw another kind of group dynamic.  
  
Being helped stumbling to his feet by his lover was the man called Wisdom. She had heard his name spoken by her uncle a few of times, usually accompanied by violent curses, and if she had had an image of the man would have expected an imposing figure, dark cloaked and dangerous. Black Tom had called him a serpent and a parasite. Here she saw a small man, below average height and built thin. He moved with the stiffness of hours in the saddle, and did not seem remotely threatening. His clothes were scruffy, his face haggard, and his black hair gave the impression it had never been tidy in his lifetime. He seemed far too young to be an enemy of her uncle, though older than her. Looking at him, though, she found herself remembering the citadel, his swift, decisive movements and absolute calm as he faced the Leignsmen, and looking again she could see the cold courage in his eyes and wiry strength in his limbs. A man easily dismissed, and all the more dangerous because of it.  
  
His lover seemed very different from him. She wore her strengths upon her sleeve, plain for all to see, from the plain, unadorned sword at her side to the steel in her warm brown eyes. She was dressed as a woodsman, and moved like one too, with an easy grace and poise. Despite their massive dissimilarities, Katherine reminded Teresa of an old ally of her uncles, the Dead Man. However, Katherine's eyes contained warmth as well as hardness. In her smile and in her tone she was kind and welcoming. Teresa had been taught to see such attitudes as a sign of weakness, and she found the other woman confusing.  
  
And then there was the Witch-Queen. Clad in the stained wreckage of once- fine clothes, holding the head of one of their horses to make sure it did not drink too much, Moira looked nothing like the magnificent woman whom she had seen from afar over the past weeks. Even now, though, tired, dirty and on the run, she managed to project poise and authority. She was very much a Queen, at home in her own country.  
  
'It takes real authority to rule the Highland Scots.' Wisdom muttered beside her. He had seen the direction of her gaze. 'Do the rest of us meet with your approval?'  
  
'I thought ye'd be taller.' She replied. Beside him Katherine smiled and, embarrassed, she felt a faint stirring of anger. 'And what makes ye think the Scots are any tougher than. . .'  
  
'I sent to Ireland for a man to help my rule, did I not?' Interrupted Moira. She smiled at the younger woman. 'You have a lot of your father in you, girl.'  
  
'A lot of her mother, too.' Muttered Wisdom, and then turned away.  
  
'How did she die?' Demanded Teresa. The Briton ignored her, instead simply snatching the bridles of the three watered horses and starting up the bank. Katherine caught his arm and pulled him round to face them once more.  
  
'She has a right.' She told her lover quietly. He looked at Teresa for a long moment.  
  
'Black Tom's power burned her, almost beyond recognition.' He said. 'Burned up a child, too. We thought it was you, and that must have been what he wanted us to think.'  
  
'He killed a child to help steal me?' Teresa had known her uncle was not a good man, but she had always believed that he was a little better than he liked to seem.  
  
'Looks that way. Black Tom's done far worse that I know of. He and Frost never saw eye to eye when I knew them, though.' He turned away, leaving Teresa filled with directionless anger.  
  
  
  
The horses were watered and rested, and the small party were preparing to depart when Tessa's head snapped up and she looked sharply to the skyline.  
  
'Riders?' Asked Wisdom.  
  
'One man.' She muttered, her eyes closed. 'He's not from Frost. He's looking for us, though.'  
  
'One of your people?' Katherine asked the Nomad.  
  
'We don't normally ride.' He muttered, swinging Buck onto his back with one hand as he hefted his staff in the other.  
  
As they watched, the Dead Man rode over the horizon, and started towards them, his hands in plain view.  
  
'Wade!' Whispered Teresa.  
  
'What did you say?' Moira asked quietly.  
  
'Nothing.'  
  
'Don't you 'nothing' me, girl. That's the Dead Man. Is he a friend of yours?'  
  
'The Dead Man killed all his friends a long time ago.' Wisdom said, in similarly low tones. Behind them, Rhane and Kitty exchanged glances.  
  
'Who is he?' The princess asked.  
  
'Pete says he's a warrior, and a very dangerous one too.' The older woman told her.  
  
'Dangerous. Men like McKay and the Hawk and myself are capable fighters, but we're not dangerous as the Dead Man is.' Jack interjected. 'He'll kill you without a thought, and then forget you ever existed. The Dead Man was driven mad when he died, and the Gods cast him from the afterlife. Worse than that, he's clever, as clever as they come.' The horseman was close now, less than twenty feet away, and he dismounted smoothly. He pulled the reins forward as he moved away from his horse, and the massive beast lowered its head and stood patiently waiting.  
  
'Terry?' He said, sounding slightly hesitant. There was an odd, grating edge to his voice, the only relic of the many times his throat had been cut. Behind the leather mask he wore his eyes were friendly and hopeful.  
  
'Wade.' The Irishwoman replied. She sounded glad to see him for a moment, and then a frown marred her features. The Dead Man did not seem to notice as he moved forwards.  
  
Then she screamed, and he hurtled backwards past his startled – and untouched – horse to slam into a tree with bone-breaking force.  
  
'Yow.' He muttered, levering himself upright. Opposite him, Wisdom raised his hands, ready to attack, and on his cue Katherine drew her sword. 'Don't tell me you're still angry, Terry?'  
  
'Why are you here, Wade?' She demanded.  
  
'There's twenty armed men and the world's most overprotective uncle riding hard after you. They're less than half an hour away. I thought maybe I'd swing by, see if you needed some help, check whether you're still going to let Tommy boy pick your boyfriends for you.'  
  
'You'll be coming along with us, then?' The Witch-Queen asked him.  
  
'Got nothing better to do. And I always did love annoying Black Tom. He gets so untidy when he's angry.'  
  
'Then ride.' She ordered him, turning to her horse and swinging into the saddle. There was a pause for a moment as her companions watched the warrior, and then Wisdom turned to his own and Katherine's mount and started climbing awkwardly astride it. The Dead Man grinned, and then leaped into the saddle, heading over to where Teresa was similarly mounting up. Glaring at him, she pulled her horse away.  
  
  
  
They'd been riding barely ten minutes when their pursuers became visible. Glancing back over his shoulder Jack saw a score of horsemen crest a ridge, less than two miles behind them.  
  
'Tessa.' He called.  
  
'I see them.' She replied, without looking round.  
  
'Can you reach them?' He asked. She shook her head; the men were hunting, focussed, and as such extremely hard to dissuade from their purpose.  
  
Taking his cue from them, Wisdom had glanced back, rather more awkwardly.  
  
'How'd they catch up?' He demanded.  
  
'They'll not have been resting their horses as we have.' The Witch-Queen told him, riding easily.  
  
'So they shouldn't be able to catch us?' Asked Teresa.  
  
'In this snow they don't need to.' Pointed out the Nomad. 'And when we hit the hills, the horses will slow down. We'll do better abandoning them.'  
  
'So will they.' The Irishwoman pointed out.  
  
'Waitaminute. Bear-boy, these people are chasing you kids, not Terry here, right?' The Dead Man interrupted, yelling above the sound of hooves.'  
  
'He's right.' The Nomad said quietly, and then louder, 'Go with him, girl. The two of you should be able to make good time out of here.'  
  
'But . . .'  
  
'Don't question the big guy, Red, just take the escape route.' The Dead Man gestured ahead and to the right, where a spine of trees ran up from the forest to the south. 'We hit there we stop and hide.'  
  
  
  
Snarling with frustration and pain, Black Tom urged the pursuit on. Strings of blood-flecked foam hung from the nostrils of their horses, but they had nearly reached the head of the valley. Their quarry was trapped.  
  
  
  
Four horses thundered across Alanbridge, and then the Nomad pulled to a stop. Sliding to the ground he literally dragged Wisdom from his mount and then on to his feet.  
  
'The bridge.' He pointed. 'Burn it.'  
  
It took Wisdom, reeling from the brutal ride and half-blinded by the spray of the nearby waterfall, a moment to register the command, but then he raised both hands and sent lances of pure heat scything into its pilings. Water steamed and wood charred, but the sodden timbers failed to catch light.  
  
'Higher!' The Pict snarled. Behind them their four companions moved up, and he glanced back at them angrily. 'Be ready to climb.' He told them, gesturing towards the steep cliff-face.  
  
Flames licked around the far end of the bridge now, and Wisdom moved his aim closer. As he did so, the leading horsemen crested the hill.  
  
  
  
'Stop them.' McKay snarled at the Hawk, and then urged his horse forwards. The woodsman pulled his horse up short and dismounted, stringing his great longbow. Eyes sharp as those of his namesake observed the six figures gathered three hundred feet below – long range, but an easy shot for him. As he nocked his first arrow, the last of the horsemen thundered past.  
  
  
  
Thirty miles away, the Frost Queen watched through the archer's eyes. As he raised his bow she spotted the Sage, standing amidst the rest.  
  
'Her.' She whispered, in his mind and her own. 'Kill her first.'  
  
  
  
Tessa turned to the Witch-Queen.  
  
'They're going to . . .' She began, and then a yard-long arrow drove straight through her right bicep, nailing it to her body as the wedge- shaped head tore through her lungs. Her eyes widened and she collapsed soundlessly into the older woman's arms.  
  
Spotting the archer Katherine grabbed her lover, using her gift just in time as his next two shafts sliced through the space they occupied. Beside them the Nomad ran forward to stand at the end of the burning bridge, waiting for an attack, but the horses had balked at the flames. Colin McKay slid from his saddle and rushed forward to challenge the Pict, swords leaping into his hand. Behind him his men started towards the flames.  
  
'Get Tessa out of here.' Wisdom snapped at the Witch-Queen. 'You and Rhane, do it.'  
  
The princess moved up beside her mother and helped lift the dying woman.  
  
'Quick now, mum.' She said to Moira, who was frowning in concentration as she completed a spell. As she did so Tessa's formally frantic, choking breathing slowed, and the older woman looked up.  
  
'We'll have to stop soon if she's to live.' She said simply, and then the three of them moved up the hill.  
  
On the bridge Colin McKay walked through the growing flames to face the Nomad, who waited with his staff held ready in one hand. On his back the Buck began to grizzle at the heat and, noticing the child, the champion of Scotland hesitated, but then moved forwards, his blades dancing in an attack that should have eviscerated the dark-clad man. Moving with startling speed Jack fended off the champion's blows before counterattacking with swift thrusts of his weapon. Retreating, McKay felt his back fur beginning to char, and he moved left, trying to circle his opponent in the narrow space. Above, the smoke and spray obscured the Hawk's vision, while behind the warrior his followers were retreating from the flames.  
  
Steel tore splinters from wood as the two warriors duelled frantically in the narrow space. Behind them Wisdom stood, hands raised, waiting for a clear shot at the orange-furred swordsman. On the far side Black Tom picked up a nearby hunk of dead wood and raised it, similarly hoping for a chance to unleash his gift on the enemy. Between them the two stood, chest to chest almost, flames licking at their clothes, their weapons locked.  
  
And Katherine ran forwards on to the bridge, reaching out to snatch Buck from Jack's back before retreating.  
  
Behind her, the bridge collapsed, and the Nomad and McKay plummeted into the plunge pool of the waterfall. 


End file.
